


The Weaving

by StarlightDreamer16



Series: Spider Silk [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Jonathan Sims, Canon Asexual Character, Cottage Fic But Not Quite, Escalation of Jon's power timeline, M/M, Secret Relationship, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Web Martin Blackwood, minor spoilers for s4, set in S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightDreamer16/pseuds/StarlightDreamer16
Summary: "Hopeless, underqualified Martin Blackwood, in love with a man who doesn’t even see him, that’s the man who’s going to be skipped over when the time comes."Set towards the end of season one, the Archives staff head off to Scotland for a research trip and find that there’s been a problem with their room bookings.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Spider Silk [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674379
Comments: 43
Kudos: 497





	The Weaving

There were a lot of upsides about rural Scottish villages – the endless green fields, spotted with cows, all fluffy-hair and gentle eyes, the almost unnatural blue of the sky, worlds away from London’s smog, the lack of semi-human monsters watching them through cracks in the walls – but there was also decidedly less accommodation than expected.

Martin had arrived an hour ago, Tim, Sasha and Jon in tow to scope out what he truly hoped was a false report of a haunted well gobbling up the townsfolk and discovered that the homey bed and breakfast they were staying at was double booked. Of the four rooms they’d originally booked, only two were available. The older man at the counter had flushed right up to his pale ears at the problem and had tried to placate them by offering a free guide around town but Jon had waved it off and told him that they would make do.

Tim had sent a mischievous glance towards Martin and reached out to wrap his arm around Sasha’s shoulders, announcing that he didn’t mind sharing with Sasha as long as Martin didn’t mind sharing with Jon. And, well, it wasn’t as if Martin was going to turn down the option to spend the next three days in close quarters with Jon, so it was decided.

As soon as they’d checked in, Jon had mumbled something about showering and wandered off towards the bedroom. The suite was nice, if slightly overdecorated. It was bigger than Martin had expected, with a bedroom, a sitting area and a small kitchenette. The wallpaper and excess of pillows reminded Martin of a fairytale grandmother’s house, but he found the tiny porcelain cow figurines charming and made a note to spend some time getting to know the real cows in the field down the road.

He made quick work of looking through the cupboards in the kitchenette, pulling out a box of teabags and a shiny silver sugar holder. The mugs were beautiful, patterned with images of the Scottish countryside and he made sure to empty Jon’s extra spoonful of sugar into the prettier of the two.

There was limited space between the kitchenette and the sitting area, but Martin hopped up onto the counter beside the heating kettle regardless. It had been a long trip stuck in the back of Sasha’s tiny car, sandwiched between the luggage and the door, and then a longer walk than they’d expected to arrive at the entrance of the B&B. Martin’s feet ached and his legs felt stiff and heavy and, honestly, the three steps over to the lounge were too many when he’d need to be back up in a moment to pour the water for tea. He leant back, resting his head against the cupboard doors, closing his eyes and ignoring the uncomfortable jab of the handle against his neck.

It was unusual for the four of them to have to attend a research trip, but Elias had been oddly insistent on them getting away for a few days and with the number of worms that had continued to surround the institute none of them had been overly eager to argue. Even Jon, obsessed with work as he was, had let himself be dragged along with minimal resistance.

Well, minimal resistance by Jon’s standards. He’d been a right prick all week and had grumbled quietly to himself for the majority of the trip, squashed in the backseat alongside Martin. He, of course, thought that the research trip was rubbish and that the town was just full of drunken idiots with a habit of falling into wells. Although, when Martin had pointed out the clear absence of worms in the village Jon had quieted down a bit.

It did help that it was beautiful in the little Scottish village. It felt like the fresh air and gentle farm décor were already stripping away layers of tension Martin had hardly noticed building up. The electric kettle clicked off just as he heard the muffled sounds of Jon’s socked feet as he made his way across the hardwood floor.

Martin opened his eyes, blinking against the bright afternoon sunshine and watched the way Jon’s hair hung past his shoulders, wet and already curling at the ends. He had changed out of the stuffy semi-formal button-down he usually preferred for work activities and into an oversized t-shirt, the name of a band from Jon’s Uni days half-faded across the front. The grey material of his pyjama pants was startlingly fluffy, with depictions of cats stretched across them. His socks were patterned with steaming cups of tea and books.

Seeing Jon like that, stripped of his professionalism and almost looking his age, sent something warm through Martin’s body, melting him from the inside out.

 _He_ got to see Jon that way.

Martin was so in love with the man in front of him it hurt.

Jon eyed the freshly boiled kettle and the set of mugs on the counter and wandered over to the kitchenette. His fingers drifted along the top of the counter, almost brushing the handle of the kettle, before he skipped over the tea station and stepped between Martin’s hanging legs to press his face into Martin’s chest.

Martin’s fingers curled into his hair, cradling the curve of Jon’s skull instinctively as the Archivist seemed to breathe out every particle of air in his body. His breath was a comforting warmth through the thin fabric of Martin’s shirt. It was as if Jon was releasing all of the things he couldn’t say back in London proper and making space for the country air. Martin hoped that he’d be able to keep some of the fresh air in his system for a while when they returned to the Institute.

“We’re out of sight then, I presume?” Martin murmured, pressing his lips against Jon’s wet hair.

In his arms, Jon let out a brittle skeleton of a laugh and reached up to twist the back of Martin’s shirt in his fingers. “From the Eye? Never. Not so long as you’re with me.”

Martin let Jon take a moment to let the thought travel through him, to think it and understand it and accept it and let it go. Sometimes Jon thought so loudly that Martin could almost hear it.

“The Eye sees all.” Jon said, infinitely more settled as he moved his face to curl even closer to Martin, almost climbing into the taller man’s lap if not for the way martin was already perched on the edge of the counter. “Jonah Magnus’ vision doesn’t quite stretch this far. I don’t know how you managed to trick him into sending us away, but God am I grateful that you did.”

Martin hummed in approval against Jon’s hair and let the familiar satisfaction of a successfully strung web ring through his body. “You needed this.”

“I did; _we_ did.”

Jon’s hands moved up Martin’s back to reach his shoulders and even with Martin’s position on the counter cutting out some of the height difference he knew that Jon would be straining on the tops of his toes and – _Oh_.

Jon kissed Martin like he held every secret in the world, like he was the library of Alexandria and Jon wanted to burn him to the ground. His skin was warm from the shower and his hair was curling between Martin’s fingers, wet and silver-streaked and familiar. Kissing Jon was like discovering a hornet’s nest and waiting for the stingers to land, terrifying and inevitable.

He was so much smaller than Martin remembered. Seeing him every day as he gradually wasted away did not prepare for the reality of holding his hollowed bones and thin skin in his hands and feeling the desperate pounding of Jon’s heart against his own. He felt impermanent, like if Martin exhaled too hard he could accidently blow away the remaining wisps of Jon.

But Jon’s mouth was solid and warm against his own, and his fingers held tight to Martin’s shoulders. He was the realest thing in Martin’s life. Jon’s socked feet slid across the smooth floorboards as he attempted to deepen the kiss and he huffed out an amused sigh against Martin’s mouth.

Martin slid off the counter and in one quick motion placed Jon in his abandoned spot. Taking advantage of the change in dynamic, he reached down to cup Jon’s jaw between his palms, marvelling at the way his hands made Jon’s delicate face look even smaller than it was.

Jon’s eyes fluttered half open, barely meeting Martin’s before they were closed again and he was pulling Martin down for another kiss, gentler now, barely a brush of lips against lips. Jon’s hands wound into Martin’s hair, as if he needed the grounding as much as Martin did. The reminder that this was real, that they were there, together, safe for the moment, however fleeting it may be.

“I miss you,” Jon whispered against Martin’s lips. He laughed, barely a sound, no more than an exhale. It was a laugh caught somewhere between desperation and madness. “You’re right fucking next to me all the damn time but I have never missed anyone more than this in my entire life.”

Martin sighed and pressed their foreheads together, feeling Jon’s breath steady and warm against his cheek, comforted by the solid reality of the man in his arms and the lack of unwanted observers. “This is the only way. Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if there were any other options. I know this is difficult for you.”

“I’m not concerned for _me_. Yesterday I yelled at you in the office for dropping a file because you told me to be cruel. But I trust you, Martin. You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted. If you say that this is the way it needs to play out, I believe you. I just wish,” he curled his fingers deeper into the strands of Martin’s hair, “I just wish I could actually be your husband in the real world, instead of just in secret.”

“Oh Jon, you know I want that too,” Martin said pulling back to look Jon in the eyes. “You know that.”

“I do,” Jon said.

“And you know that I love you.”

“I do,” Jon said, softer. “And I love you too, even when I’m calling you an idiot. Especially when I’m calling you an idiot. I hate pretending that you’re useless. I hate _him_ thinking it.”

“Hopeless, underqualified Martin Blackwood, in love with a man who doesn’t even see him, that’s the man who’s going to be skipped over when the time comes. Martin Blackwood-Sims…”

“Could ask me to gouge out my eyes and I would,” Jon replied.

“Would be seen as a threat.”

“Because you should be.”

“Not to you, never to you.”

Martin tilted Jon’s chin up with the hands still cradling his face and kissed his husband the way he’d been yearning to for months. He kissed him with every ounce of pent up desire from countless trips to Jon’s office and lingering fingers as he gave him tea or files. With the rage he’d stored at having to watch his partner disintegrate before his eyes and not be able to stop it. He kissed him for every night that they had to go back to cold beds in different apartments to prevent the risk of Jonah Magnus Looking and Finding them together. He kissed him for all the days and the nights that were still to come, and knew that it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough.

He remapped the contours of Jon’s mouth, the chipped corner of his lower back left molar, his velvet tongue, the sensitive panes of the roof of his mouth. He kissed him again and again and again, until it was difficult to remember a time before. He had been born to kiss Jonathan Blackwood-Sims, to swallow down the aching, desperate sounds that snuck out of his throat and hummed against Martin’s tongue.

He left Jon’s mouth behind to trail kisses down along the line of his jaw, pulling him closer to the edge of the counter and holding him steady with hands on his back as Jon whined and bared his neck in encouragement. He pressed hot, lingering kisses to Jon’s pulse points and grinned at the almost visible aura of contentment thrumming from his husband’s body.

They had both spent too long sitting on their hands, touch-starvation an unwanted houseguest. Too quickly they had grown to need more than what the barest brush of skin against skin as he handed Jon his morning coffee allowed.

The old t-shirt was stretched out over Jon’s slim frame from years of wear as it transferred from Jon to Martin and back again. At some point the sleeve had shifted to reveal Jon’s shoulder and the outline of his collarbone. Jon shivered against him as Martin ducked down to press a gentle kiss against the smooth, brown skin of Jon’s shoulder before working his way back up to the delicate skin where shoulder met neck.

There he applied force, letting his teeth scrape along the skin and pressing heavy open-mouthed kisses to the spot again and again until a bruise just barely shone through. Even as Jon moaned and pulled him closer, hands like vices in Martin’s hair, they both knew it wasn’t a request for more. Jon wasn’t interested in the sorts of things people assumed kissing had to lead to and it had never made Martin love him any differently.

The mark wasn’t an instigation, it was a reminder. He knew Jon would trace over it, hidden under his high-collared shirts, long after it had faded. A secret knowledge just for the two of them. You are mine and I am yours even if no one else could see it.

Jon pressed his face against Martin’s collarbones, smiling so widely that Martin could feel it against his skin. He pressed his lips to the crown of Jon’s head, letting his eyes trace the silver threads woven through Jon’s hair.

Martin’s manifestations had never been visible on his own body; he wouldn’t make a particularly good avatar if it were literally written on his skin. It wasn’t his fault that no one had made the connection between his manipulations and the webs woven like starlight through his husband’s hair.

He smiled into Jon’s hair, the cunning, true smile he’d only ever reserved for Jon’s company, the sole person who knew every one of his secrets.

Three thuds sounded from the front door, reverberating around the room.

Jon’s eyes flashed white. “Tim,” he proclaimed.

“Oi, Martin,” Tim’s voice called through the closed door, “stop snogging Jon and come help me scope out the local pub. There’s nothing in this town except cows and booze. I’d almost prefer the fucking worms.”

Martin sighed and pressed his lips back to Jon’s, kissing him at a leisurely pace. Jon’s body was relaxed against his, every sharp thorn of tension plucked and tossed away.

“Love you,” Jon murmured against his mouth.

“Love you,” Martin replied, mouth helplessly tugging into a smile.

“Martin,” Tim whined from beyond the door.

If only Tim knew what he was interrupting, how close his earlier statement was to the truth.

Jon let out a quiet laugh against his mouth and gently pushed him away with a gesture of content resignation. “Go, have fun. I have statements to record.”

When Martin stepped back, Jon hopped off the counter, poured himself a mug of not quite boiling tea, pressed one last kiss against the corner of Martin’s mouth and headed towards the bedroom. “Don’t let Tim fall in the haunted well,” he called over his shoulder.

“Obviously.”

Martin opened the door to Tim’s grinning face inches away from his own.

“How’re you and the Boss liking your room. Very plush beds, gotten any use out of yours yet?”

“Shut up, shut up. He’ll hear you. I hate you, get out of the doorway,” Martin said, blushing up to his ears. He pushed Tim down the corridor, pulling the door shut behind them.

It was a comfort to know that for the first time in months, Jon would be waiting for him when he got back.

It was a curse to know that it would likely be for the last time in a very long time.

Martin had woven his webs, as much as he wanted to abandon them for one more night curled around Jon, it was his job to wait. And it was Jonah Magnus’ job to walk right on through, not even thinking to check for spiders.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for more instalments.
> 
> (Yeah, it was a Mech's shirt)


End file.
